


Victors

by purple_cube



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cube/pseuds/purple_cube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In The Games’ first seventy-three years, District Twelve had two Victors. Haymitch finally tells them about the other one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victors

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for mention of non-con involving Finnick Odair. Contains spoilers for entire series.

 

  
_Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor._  
  
It’s Peeta who thinks of it, just as the tributes that were reaped the year before us are being preserved on paper.  
  
“Haymitch? What are about the other Victor? You know, the one before you. No one ever seems to talk about…uh, I don’t even know if they were a boy or a girl.”  
  
“Girl,” Haymitch replies softly, like he has done since working on the book. He waits a moment before continuing. “She was my mentor.”  
  
We wait for him to elaborate, but when he doesn’t, Peeta gets out a fresh parchment paper from the pile and picks up a pencil.  
  
“Describe her.”  
  
Haymitch does, stuttering and scattered at first, but more sure of himself after the first few minutes. Soon, Peeta has a lifelike sketch of a young woman that is around my age, but with larger eyes and stronger cheekbones. Her hair is long and hangs loose around her shoulders, Peeta using sparse shading to infer its blonde color. As if to confirm my thoughts, Haymitch begins to share more about her.  
  
“She was from town. The grocers’ daughter; their only child. She was popular. I didn’t know her at school, but at her reaping, I saw dozens of people touching her arm as she moved past them to get to the stage. They must have known her, cared about her, to do that.”  
  
I know that this must be true – the Capitol wouldn’t have taken too kindly to such a mass display of sympathy and sorrow, not when the Games were meant to be such an honor to participate in. It was probably seen as an act of rebellion. I wonder if that was that how she died.  
  
“So, you were at her reaping?” Peeta asks in a quiet voice, not wanting to pull Haymitch too far from his thoughts.  
  
He gets a nod in reply. Haymitch takes a sip from the beer that Thom’s been brewing, his lifeline as he waits for the next delivery of liquor from the Capitol – well, from Effie. He contemplates his drink for a while, the tip of a finger circling the rim of the glass. Peeta goes back to perfecting his sketch, so I tend to the stew that’s set above a low flame at the stove.  
  
I am still stirring the contents of the pot absent-mindedly when I hear Haymitch speak again. “She was sixteen. I was fourteen. It was two years before my own reaping.”  
  
“The forty-eighth Games?” I hear Peeta ask. “That’s more recent than I thought. Yet, we never heard about her.”  
  
I turn around in time to see Haymitch look up, first at Peeta, and then at me.  
  
“Because of me.”  
  
I remember what he said after we had watched Finnick record his Propo, revealing the mountain of secrets that had he collected in exchange for letting the Capitol use his body. _My mother and younger brother. My girl. They were all dead two weeks after I was crowned Victor. Because of that stunt I pulled with the force field._  
  
He hadn’t included his mentor. Yet, it would make sense, wouldn’t it, that the Capitol would also kill her to punish him?  
  
“She was beautiful – but she was also smart, and knew how to use her beauty. She convinced one of the Careers to protect her, knowing he was attracted to her. When they got down to the final four, she turned on him. She did what she had to do to survive.”  
  
He huffs, almost a laugh, but with more pain than amusement attached to it. “She was the original Mockingjay, you know. She gave Maysilee that pin after mentoring her. Lucky for you, no one in your Games recognized it from her victory.”  
  
The pin – _my_ pin – takes on yet another leaf to its history book. Now, I understand why Madge had wanted me to have it – not just because it had been her aunt’s, but because it had belonged to a Victor.  
  
I make my way back to the table, taking another look at Peeta’s drawing now that I have the threads of a personality to add to the picture.  
  
“She came back to Twelve a hero,” Haymitch continues. “We all thought it might be different, now that we had the Capitol’s attention. But, ultimately things stayed the same. She tried to share her wealth where she could. And she became a mentor for those of us that followed.”  
  
“What happened to her?” I ask quietly, because I’m convinced now that it was the Capitol’s fault, that her death and her fading from our collective mind was no accident.  
  
“I told you, sweetheart,” he replies sadly. “My family and my girl. Dead within two weeks of my victory.”  
  
I let his words sink in. His girl. His mentor. Twelve’s first Victor. One and the same.  
  
Peeta suddenly turns to me and gestures toward the stairs. “Well, I’m going up to bed. Got a long day tomorrow. Katniss?” Carefully, he pushes the pile of parchment away from him – and closer to Haymitch.  
  
I nod, before realizing that Haymitch isn’t looking at me. His gaze is still fixed on the parchment, Peeta’s tentatively sketched picture trapping him somewhere in the past. “I’ll join you,” I say loudly.  
  
I start to follow Peeta out of the kitchen, but pause to place a hand on Haymitch’s shoulder. “You’ll let yourself out, won’t you?”  
  
I watch the back of his head rise and fall in a short nod. Knowing that this is the only response I’m going to get, I leave him alone to find whatever peace he can.  
  
Stopping in the hallway, I remember that the stove is still burning, albeit slowly, but needs extinguishing for the night. So I turn quietly and retrace my steps. I stop at the entrance, leaning against the doorframe.  
  
Haymitch is dropping his mouth to the paper, placing a single, soft kiss on the page. He whispers a word, nearly too quiet for me to catch.  
  
“Goodnight.”  
  
Gently, he places the previous papers on top, effectively closing the book, before rising from his chair and walking out.  
  
I am still watching his retreating figure through the window when Peeta places a hand on my hip from behind. I hadn’t even heard him coming back. “Is he okay?”  
  
I nod, my throat suddenly dry.  
  
“Are you?” he asks quietly.  
  
I think about the book, about the ghosts that we have preserved in it. And I think about Peeta and me, each of us coming so close, so many times, to becoming ghosts ourselves.  
  
So I smile, and touch his cheek softly, because I can, because I am still here and so is he. He smiles too, as his searching eyes find what they are looking for in my expression.  
  
“Go to bed,” I tell him softly. “I’ll be there in a minute.”  
  
He turns to leave, though not before placing a light kiss on my forehead. As he climbs the staircase, I cross the kitchen quickly, extinguishing the flame. Greasy Sae will help herself to some of the stew in the morning when she delivers the eggs, happy to admit that she’s starting to enjoy Peeta’s cooking as much as her own.  
  
But before I leave, I place my fingertips on the top parchment of our book, and echo Haymitch’s parting word.  
  
“Goodnight.”

 


End file.
